When Britons needed help against the far brighter Pictish and Irish invaders, they begged the Saxons to come over and protect them. The kindly Kings, Hengst and Horsa sailed over to save the Brits from the few dozen Irish raiders who caused such consternation among that weak and fragile people by stealing a few of their cows every year or so.
In the process of defending them against enemies that were readily sent into retreat by a half-dozen Saxon seamen loudly slapping their oars on the water, Saxons, along with Angles and Frisians, quickly realized how incompetent and disorganized the British tribes enjoyed being.
“A century ago, these same people were pleading with the Romans to come and protect them. Romans finally got sick of ’em, whining while they picked their pockets. Now, they want us to help. They just can’t get organized enough to run their own country.” the Teutons realized. An early Kipling described their zeal to help the Brits in The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle,
“‘Tis our Teutonic burden, to send the best we breed.
To help the Celts in every way to serve their basic needs.”
As had the Romans before them, Saxons soon realized how basically selfish, short-sighted, and self-centered the British Celts were. As the Chronicler reports in disappointment, the Brits’ limited desires were generally recorded in only two words:
“Each one doth whine
‘It’s mine! It’s mine!’
And that is all they say.
‘It’s mine! It’s mine!’
Each one doth whine,
And not one of them will pray.”
Their greed grew tiresome. Despite endless, and usually intentional, Brit shortcomings in every field of human endeavor, the Angles and the Saxons, to their everlasting credit, were patient with them for centuries.
To help the bitter Brits learn the principles of cooperation and getting along, Teutons had to organize much of the Island, if for no other reason than to keep them from using wells as outhouses. “Yes, yes, you like the splashing, but, really, it isn’t good for you.”, ten thousand Saxons explained to as many Brits.
And, taking over was the only way to teach the basic farming techniques that might someday allow the brighter Celts to feed themselves. “No, no, you must not throw the seeds into the air, but plant them in the ground.” was one of the basic, Saxon lessons taught by their early “Peace Corps”. Saxon missionaries taught so well that, in only a few centuries, many of the brighter Brits were able to appear to understand. Well, “understand” may be a bit of an exaggeration. “Mimic” is probably more accurate.
It became more difficult for the Saxons’ descendants to deal with the stubborn, perverse, increasingly inbred Britons because of their bizarre breeding habits. Among that deeply unhappy people, only the most bitter and miserable were allowed to breed. This peculiar custom produced a race of ever-increasing sullenness, a people in which rage and envy soon replaced all other emotions. Fortunately, only a few hundred of them survive to the present day, and their numbers dwindle with every generation.
Finally, one Saxon king threw up his hands in defeat and decided, “These greedy, back-biting, splay-footed Brits are so wretched and miserable that we, even with the help of Holy Mother Church, are unable to help them. We will deport them to Wales and Scotland. There, they can live in steep, narrow valleys and do what they do best. Drink and complain.”
Perpetually resentful, today’s even unhappier and more miserable Celts, the backbone of every collective boobery in modern times, have never forgotten their loss. “They made us stop sacrificing our happiest and most well-adjusted children, kept us from burying cheerful people alive in the peat bogs, wouldn’t allow our weekly orgies, and don’t let us burn whole villages full of people in wicker statues. We must regain those ancient rights, and renew our former rites, so as to preserve what we will tell people is a ‘civilization’.”
So, the remaining Brits have joined with the more demonic forces of government, and are counter-attacking the Saxons, Angles, and Frisians from the fringes with a power far beyond their numbers. Dark-hearted, Celtic remnants from a Stone Age whose technology they could, with relative ease, grasp, are ever-angrier at the internal combustion and electronic devices they cannot fathom, so are claiming their independence from the people who have so successfully saved them from themselves for over a thousand years.
Allied with the perverse and hateful forces of government, the Celtic remnants are successfully looting the English people. Their final goal is to have them wiped out by their own government. As is their perpetual wont, they have asked for help from overseas.
Once again, bitter Brits have brought in the usual hordes of foreign invaders to help them destroy their enemies. The appearance of huge numbers of foreign, hostile throngs of bombers, arsonists, and homicidal maniacs in the Saxon areas manifests the Celts’ latest insane scheme to regain control of their island.
Like Hengst and Horsa, these new invaders will soon refuse to leave, as well, but out of a desire to kill, rather than serve. The Brits don’t care. “We just want them to exterminate the Anglo-Saxons. We want that so badly that we don’t care if our new allies kill or enslave all the rest of us after they have eradicated the English.”
Some of the English have tried to explain to the tiny handful of surviving Brits: “You miserable wretches have never been able to take care of yourselves. And, we treat you ever so much better than your new ‘friends’ will. You’re better off letting us take care of things while you go have a drink and look knowingly at your precious trees.”
The Brits reply: “We don’t want to be taken care of. The Romans helped us, and we hated them. We only begged the Saxons to come and help us because we hated the Welsh, Scots, and Irish more. We want this latest horde to move in and destroy you horrid English people.”
“And why is it that you hate us so?” an innocent Englishman may inquire.
“We have always hated our betters more than we love ourselves. It’s the British way.” they hiss through perpetual sneers.
